


just this once

by liquidbutterflies



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, Sleeping Together, basically yeah just fluff, but like literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidbutterflies/pseuds/liquidbutterflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's nightmares about the war still haven't left, even after he moved out and gotten a flatshare with a genius that gets high on nicotine patches and keeps eyeballs in the fridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just this once

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> This is one of the first fics I've ever written, apologies if it's not that great.  
> I'd really appreciate it if you comment, but if you're too busy being chased by zombies or saving the world or something, don't felt the need to.  
> I hope you enjoy!

“Watson!”

The harsh, dry, dusty air blew over the Afghanistan ground. He was hiding behind a clutter of rocks, which were the only thing that stood in between the lines of life and death, along with his gun that he and the other few men among him with faces caked with mud and dust held tightly to their chest, fingers on the trigger. Silence hung over air, and John closed his eyes and waited.

 

“WATSON!” 

 

Blood; there was so much of it, and the loud bang of gunshots and bullets flying in the air. He could see the soldiers next to him laying on the ground, and their blank eyes staring up at the merciless sun and breathing their last breath, fingers stained with sweat and blood and John was making it worse, by killing others too, even if they were on the enemies side, other people with families and children and their blood was on his hands and-

 

“JOHN WATSON!”

 

He was a doctor, for God’s sake, and he couldn’t save the people around him who were dying, so many people dying. John could feel his heart beat like a drum and the sweat all over his face, and suddenly he feels pain blossom in his left shoulder, and when he reaches to feel it his hand comes back red, covered in his own blood and he feels himself fall to the ground and he thinks he’s going to die, and the only thing he can think is pain, pain…...

 

“JOHN WATSON!”

 

John wakes up in his own bed, startled, and finds himself clutching his blanket. He sighs, and rubs his eyes. The window near his bed is the only source of light in the room.  
The nightmares about his war still haven’t left, even after he moved out and gotten a flatshare with a genius, that gets high on nicotine patches and keeps eyeballs in the fridge, and the fact that for the first time in a few years he pulled out his gun and killed a man (even though he was a serial killer) didn’t help his nightmares.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes and laid back down on his bed again, staring up now at the ceiling, thousand of thoughts running through his head.  
The door to his room creaked slightly open and let some light in from the other room outside, and John looked up, startled. The stupid, arrogant genius he decided to share a flat with stared down at him, leaning against the door frame.  
John sighed slightly in relief. "What do you want?"

Sherlock narrows his eyes slightly and twists his lip slightly. "I heard noises."

"Well." John mumbles, turning his back towards Sherlock, "It doesn't matter. Go and sleep, or play with human body parts, or...smoke, whatever it is you do."

"I don't smoke," he argues, pulling down his sleeve. "Nicotine patches, remem-"

"Yeah, alright, I get it." John huffs and pulls his blanket over his head. "Go and let me sleep."

 

Sherlock crosses his arms and leans against the doorway, observing John. "You were dreaming about the war again." It wasn't a question; it was a statement, and John curses himself for letting him move into a flat with an annoying genius for the billionth time that day. 

"Yeah, genius deduction, and I'm fine, just....leave." John turns so he's facing his flatmate once more, and sits up in his bed. 

Sherlock pauses and stares down at him, and John shifts uncomfortably. After a few minutes, Sherlock walks over to the other side of the bed silently, and pulls up the blanket and lies down on the bed next to John.

"Hey-Sherlock, wait-what are you-people don't usually do this-don't-" John argues, but Sherlock ignores him and puts his arms under the pillow and begins to close his eyes.

 

John stares hopelessly at him, and decides to just sleep, because he's too tired to deal with a grown up man that acts like a five year old. He pulls up the cover and drops his head onto his pillow, and his eyelids begin to droop.

 

He hasn’t had any nightmare about Afghanistan ever since.


End file.
